


I Just Want You (To Want Me)

by puckinghell



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Trade, Tyson has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, but not in a big way just a hey fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 06:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21441457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckinghell/pseuds/puckinghell
Summary: Gabe is so composed, and Tyson is so dramatic, and Gabe is so beautiful and it hurts like hell, how much Tyson fucking misses him.Alternatively: Tyson doesn't like Toronto but it has very little to do with Toronto.
Relationships: Tyson Barrie/Gabriel Landeskog
Comments: 3
Kudos: 195





	I Just Want You (To Want Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so here's the deal!!! Tyson made some comments about not feeling it in Toronto and I got very upset so I had to deal with my feelings and I do that by writing fic. If I cry about the fact that Tys is no longer with Gabe and Nate that's MY business, but if yall are sad too hopefully this will help.
> 
> Title from "All the fucking time" By Loote. 
> 
> Warnings: kinda smut? more like steam tbh. But there is some mention of sucking dick.

Tyson has been dreaming about Gabe.

That, in itself, is not ideal. Gabe isn’t his captain anymore, and Gabe isn’t his boyfriend anymore, which makes dreaming about him just that more of a problem.

Because when Tyson wakes up, it’s just another day of no Gabe.

Granted, it was mostly his decision, that they wouldn’t talk.

“We can totally make it work,” Gabe had protested, that dreaded night after Tyson got traded and he was sitting on Gabe’s couch sniffling into Zoey’s fur and drowning himself in wine coolers.

“There’s phones. I can call you all the time. FaceTime. We can see each other during Christmas break, bye week, summer. And when we play each other.”

The thought of playing against Gabe, instead of with Gabe; his teammates fighting Gabe, instead of Gabe fighting for Tyson, made Tyson wanna cry even more.

“It’s too hard, Gabe,” he whined. “You know that long distance barely ever works, and you know me. I’m not made for it.”

What he means is, if he has to worry about whoever is eyeing up Gabe in bars all over Denver without the capability to get his hands on Gabe and shoot daggers at those people, he’ll drive himself absolutely insane, and it seems like Gabe understood.

His eyes softened. “Well, we can still be friends, at least.”

And he was right. They could. Tyson knew he’ll still be friends with Nate, if no one else. Nate wouldn’t let him go.

Gabe wouldn’t let him go, if Tyson let him. But…

“I don’t wanna be friends,” he blurted out, and it cost him a lot to ignore the flash of hurt across Gabe’s face. Softening the blow, he tried again. “I don’t think I can.”

And Gabe, because he’s Gabe and he’s always known Tyson better than anyone, just wrapped his arms around him and held him until Tyson felt like there were no more tears left to cry, and then they’d had the best sex of Tyson’s life, which still left a bitter aftertaste in Tyson’s mouth because he knew it was going to be the last time.

“Toronto could be good for you, Tys,” Gabe had said the next morning, at the door, and Tyson had simply kissed Gabe until his Uber threatened to drive away without him, and what Tyson hadn’t said was that as long as Toronto would be the thing between him and Gabe, it could never be good for anything.

\--

And it turns out he was right about that, because Toronto has sucked.

Sure, his teammates are fine. He’s been friends with Morgan, so that was easy, and Muzz is a great partner, and he still has Kerfy as somewhat of a crutch to lean on – you’d expect it was the other way around, but no, because Tyson is pathetic and Kerf has his life together – but it’s not the same. It’s not Gabe and Nate, it’s not Z, or Nemeth or Cole, and he doesn’t get them like he got them.

He doesn’t know where the puck is going before it leaves the stick. He doesn’t know when to jump up in the rush, doesn’t _feel _it when Nate isn’t the one giving him the look, when it’s not Z who stays behind and has his back.

It’s probably not fair, to latch onto that as the reason why he’s not playing well. It’s just, the other reason is too painful to admit.

He’s not playing well because he’s feeling like shit, every time he opens the door to his empty apartment. Every time he hears someone talk about the Avs. Every time he talks to Nate, even.

It’s not Nate’s fault. Nate has been the supportive best friend he’s always been.

“You’ll be fine, Tys,” he says. The Facetime screen is blurry because Nate is in the locker room and the Wifi sucks at Pepsi Center.

It’s better at Scotiabank. Tyson can’t bring himself to care.

“How?” Tyson complains. “How am I gonna be fine? Are you gonna get traded here too?”

Nate scoffs. “Sure, me for Matthews, let’s go.”

Tyson wonders if it’s an impossibility, then decides it probably isn’t. But maybe Matthews could go to Arizona, and then they could flip whoever they get for him for Nate, and then…

“It’s not me you’re missing, bro,” Nate says then, and there’s such a clear tone of pity in his voice that Tyson frowns.

“Yes it is. Don’t tell me who I miss.”

Nate rolls his eyes, then says “No, it’s Landy,” because he’s a bad person and Tyson doesn’t know why he keeps him around.

“This is not about Gabe!” Tyson squeaks, even though it most likely totally is.

“Bro,” Nate says empathetically, “you _dream _about him!”

Right, Tyson should never have told Nate about that.

“Not every night,” he protests, and it sounds weak even to his own ears.

Nate lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re gonna be such a mess by the time you get here, I’m not even gonna be able to enjoy having my best friend back, huh?”

And that stings a little, cause Tyson prides himself on being a good friend, but he’s not been a very good friend to Nate lately.

He tries not to think about the first time the Leafs play the Avs – at Pepsi Center, cause fuck Tyson’s feelings, right – but he’s been looking forward to seeing Nate again since the second he stepped off the plane in Toronto.

“Yes, you will,” Tyson promises. “No more moping about Gabe, promise. Now, tell me about that date you had last week.”

\--

Fine. Maybe Tyson mopes a little about Gabe, still.

It’s just, last night’s dream was a whole different brand of torture.

Normally, when he dreams about Gabe, the dreams themselves aren’t that significant. He’s grocery shopping, and sees Gabe standing at the avocado’s, poking to see which one is the perfect amount of ripe. Or he’s on the ice and gets a perfect pass onto his tape, and when he looks up after the horn sounds it’s Gabe smiling at him. Or he’s out on a jog and he sees Zoey, and a few minutes later Gabe shows up all red and sweaty and gorgeous.

Those dreams suck because he wakes up and realizes he’s not gonna see that again, but it’s nothing compared to this dream.

In this dream, Tyson is baking cookies. That’s not a rare occurrence: Tyson loves cookies, so the first thing he ever learned how to make were cookies, and he makes them all the time. The thing that’s different this time is that he’s in Gabe’s kitchen, and Zoey is at his feet, wagging her tail because she knows Tyson will sneak her some cookie dough at some point.

The front door creaks and there’s heavy footsteps in the hall and somehow Tyson knows who’s going to enter the kitchen even before Zoey barks excitedly and runs towards the hall.

“Hey, baby,” a voice coos at her. “Have you been hanging out with your other, lesser dad?”

“Hey!” Tyson calls back fake offended, as if it’s _normal_ that Gabe called him Zoey’s dad. “I’ll have you know she loves me more than you!”

“She can’t love you more than I do,” Gabe teases, even though he obviously knows that’s not what Tyson meant. He’s wearing that navy blue jumper that brings out his eyes and his cheeks are a little rosy from the cold. He walks towards the stove, kisses Tyson on the cheek and wraps his arm around his waist. “That’s so not in the diet plan.”

“Shut up,” Tyson smiles. “As if you’re not gonna be stealing them as soon as they’re out of the oven.”

Gabe winks at him and walks towards the fridge, starts looking through it.

Then Tyson notices something glittering on Gabe’s hand.

He’s not sure if he’s aware, at that point, that he’s dreaming, but he sure as hell knows that this _can’t _be real life, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve remembered Gabe getting married.

“Why do we never have the red one,” Gabe sighs, taking a blue Gatorade out of the fridge, staring at it disappointingly, and putting it back. Normally, Tyson would tease him for it, but he’s too busy having a mental breakdown.

He reaches out and grabs Gabe’s hand, pulls it towards him.

“Careful,” Gabe squaks. When he sees Tyson stare at the ring, he smiles. “Yeah, sometimes I forget it’s there too, but then I look at it and I remember being the luckiest man in the world.” Then, he pauses. “Actually, the luckiest man in the world probably have his _husband _bring him _red _Gatorade…”

Husband.

He looks at his own hand, the one he’s holding Gabe’s hand with, and discovers a matching ring on his ring finger.

Tyson nearly passes out.

A feeling washes over him, a feeling of love and comfort and warmth, and if this is a dream he doesn’t ever want to wake up, so he reaches forward and presses his lips against Gabe, who giggles at the sudden motion but seems more than content to kiss Tyson back.

“What was that for?” he mumbles against Tyson’s lips when they pull apart to breathe, and Tyson wants to say _because this is not real but I want it to be_.

Instead, his dream self says: “Missed you.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic, I was gone for two hours at most.”

Tyson decides to let that snide remark go in order to kiss Gabe again, and then Gabe’s hands move to his ass, and this dream is about to get so much better…

_RING RING_

Tyson is going to kill whoever is calling him.

“Bro,” Morgan says on the other side, when Tyson grumbles out something that sounds remarkably like _what_. “Where are you, practice is starting in 10 minutes.”

Fuck.

“In bed,” Tyson answers, a little too honestly because he’s still half asleep, and he hears Morgan laugh.

“You’re in so much trouble.”

And well, Morgan has no idea how right he is about that.

\--

The Leafs vs Avs game is getting closer rapidly and Tyson still hasn’t scored, so that sucks.

It seems even his teammates have noticed that he’s upset and hating himself a little more with each missed opportunity, because Morgan catches him after the shootout loss against the Flyers and says: “We’re going out, you’re coming, no excuses.”

Morgan isn’t usually this bossy, and it reminds Tyson of Gabe, so then he feels like sulking even more, but Morgan won’t take no for an answer and that’s how he finds himself in a bar with a few of his teammates in the middle of DT Toronto.

“Dude, you’re an idiot,” Willy tells Matts with the fullest conviction. “Peach schnapps are _awesome_.”

“Real men drink pink,” Mitch nods, and he clearly doesn’t understand how that sounds until the entire is laughing and he’s turning red.

“I’m just saying,” Matts answers, motioning at his beer, “beer never let anyone down.”

“Except anyone with taste buds,” says Tyson, because he might be feeling like shit but he will never not defend his choice in drinks, and Willy is, in fact, right: peach schnapps _are _awesome.

To his own surprise, Tyson finds himself having fun, that night. He’s pleasantly tipsy, but not too drunk, and his teammates are funny. They’re clearly all much more familiar with each other than they are with Tyson, but they make sure to include him in their jokes and chirp him the same amount, so it feels like Tyson is starting to become part of the pack.

“Willy, there’s a hot girl at the bar that has been staring at you for the past ten minutes,” Kappy says suddenly, interrupting a discussion between Mitchy and Matts about if snapbacks are appropriate to wear with a suit. “I don’t even think she’s blinked.”

Willy half turns, looks at the girl – who is, objectively, very pretty – and smiles at her, all teeth and sharp eyes.

“It was nice hanging with you all,” he says, getting up, “but I have to go.”

Matts whoops, Morgan shakes his head and Kappy rolls his eyes, and then Willy is gone.

“We should find someone for Tyson,” Mitch says excitedly, and Tyson feels the heat rush to his cheeks.

Oh no. He’s not had _this_ conversation yet, with his new team.

“Mitchy…” Morgan’s voice has a warning tone, because Morgan knows already, but Mitch has been drinking too, and he doesn’t seem to hear it.

“No, seriously! He’s been all mopey, and whenever Matts gets like that he just needs to get laid.”

“Hey!” Matts protests, but he gets ignored by everyone.

“I, uh, don’t need to get laid,” Tyson says weakly. He can’t really say he has no interested in getting laid because he’s still in love with his former captain, but he hopes he can get them to drop it, anyway.

He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“You don’t know until you’ve tried,” says Mitch. “What about that girl, with the brown hair? She’s cute.”

She is cute.

“Not my type,” says Tyson.

“Okay.” Mitch doesn’t give up easily. “What’s your type?”

Hot, blond, male, blue eyes, Swedish, dumb, a little mean, sincere, feisty, _Gabe_.

“Uhm, I likes blondes.”

Matts snorts. “You and every hockey player in the world, bro.”

“Mitch,” Morgan tries again, sounding a little exasperated.

“How about her, then?” Mitch nods towards another girl, who’s laughing with her friends.

For a second, Tyson thinks about faking it. He could get up, chat to the girl for a bit, maybe even dance. He’s learned he’s nonthreatening and girls like chatting to him – maybe they can sense the innocence – and he could come back after a while and pretend he struck out.

But he’s tired of pretending, of hiding: he did so much of that before the Avs, and he remembers how nice it was in Denver, to not have to do that. He wants that again. He owes it to himself to at least try.

“Actually, none of them are gonna work, Mitchy,” he says, putting on a brave front. “Because I’m gay.”

There’s a silence, one beat, two. Tyson can feel his heart in his throat, notices too late that he’s holding his breath.

“Cool,” Mitch says, finally. “So what about that guy?”

Just like that, the tension flows away. Matts smacks him across the arm – “That guy looks like a douche, Mitchy, why are you such a bad wing man” – and Morgan bumps his arm into Tyson’s with a smile, and then Kappy starts telling a story about when Mitch tried to hook him up with some girl who turned out to be the cousin of Kappy’s ex, and it’s easy, again.

For the first time in months, Tyson’s heart feels light.

\--

In Tyson’s dream, he’s standing at a bar, a beer in his hand. That’s how he knows it’s a dream: he would never drink beer voluntarily.

The bar is noisy, and when Tyson looks around, he sees nobody that he knows. Nobody is paying attention to him, either. Tyson takes a sip of his drink and fixes his face on the screen above the bar, that’s normally playing some kind of sports game.

On the TV, the Avs are playing the Leafs. Tyson feels panic grab him at the throat – what team is he on? - when suddenly he realizes it’s live, and he’s not playing on _either _team.

And he knows, then, that this is his subconscious reminding him that he had another option. That there was a choice to make. One that he never considered, but perhaps should’ve.

He didn’t have to go to the Leafs. He didn’t have to leave Denver. Not if he really didn’t want to, not if he decided that staying in Denver was more important than hockey.

That Gabe was more important than hockey.

He looks down at his glass and it’s empty, suddenly, so he flags down the bartender.

“Another one, please.”

“Sure about that?” a voice drawls, and Tyson turns around so fast he nearly knocks his glass of the bar.

Behind the bar stands Gabe, in front of him, a cocktail shaker.

“I made you something better,” he says. “Something sweeter.” He gets a new glass and pours the cocktail: it’s bright yellow, and when Tyson takes a sip, it’s sweet like honey with a sour aftertaste.

If that isn’t a metaphor, Tyson doesn’t know what could be.

“They’re winning,” says Gabe, catching Tyson looking at the screen. “The Avs, I mean. They’re playing great. Without me, of course.” He gestures to his foot; it’s in a boot.

A panicked feeling rushes through Tyson, and Gabe seems to read it off his face, as he laughs. “It’s okay, Tys, I’ll be fine. Hopefully I’ll be back in time to play against you.”

“But I'm not playing,” Tyson says, somehow still feeling panicked. “I’m not on a team.”

Gabe seems to ponder this. “No,” he says finally, “I suppose neither of us are playing right now. But you are part of a team, Tys.” He smiles. “You’re part of a team, and you’re part of a family.”

It hits Tyson, how badly he wants to kiss Gabe, but as he reaches out, Gabe takes a step back.

He looks sad, as he watches Tyson’s hands drop.

“I would’ve liked to be part of both, but they took you off my team. And then you took yourself out of my family.”

Something hits against the back of Tyson’s throat, like he’s about to throw up, and then Gabe ducks beneath the bar and suddenly everything goes black.

\--

When Tyson wakes up, he’s sweating. His bedroom is dark and quiet but his head is ringing, and the bright red letters on his alarm clock tell him it’s 2am.

He barely got 2 hours of sleep, but it feels like he went through a lifetime of pain. Everything in his body hurts, and it has nothing to do with the game they lost against the Hawks that night.

He remembers the dream vividly, can picture Gabe’s sad eyes and the boot around his leg.

He read about Gabe’s injury, but he hasn’t talked to Gabe himself, obviously. He didn’t know he was worrying about it until he saw it in his dream tonight.

Later, Tyson will blame it on the fact that he’s still half asleep, and he got hit pretty hard that game and maybe he has a light concussion, but for now, he won’t question it.

He grabs his phone and calls Gabe.

The phone rings, and rings, and Tyson is debating hanging up during every ring, but then the connection clicks.

“Tyson?” Gabe asks, his tone weary and sleepy. “Are you okay?”

Tyson is not okay: he feels like if he speaks, he’ll cry, so he just closes his eyes and inhales. He pretends Gabe is there with him, pretends everything doesn’t suck so much.

“Tys,” Gabe speaks again, his tone friendlier this time. “I can hear you breathing. What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Tyson croaks, and Gabe breathes in, on the other side of the line.

He sounds _so _far away, and Tyson hates it.

“For what?”

“For calling.” For starters. “And for… everything.” There’s so much Tyson needs to say, and he doesn’t know how to say any of it. So he asks: “How’s your leg?”

Gabe lets out a startled laugh and it sounds like music to Tyson’s ears, to hear him laugh like that.

“It’s still there,” he hums, “healing. It sucks, because I want to help the team, but I’ve got to give it time, you know.” He pauses. “Healing takes time.”

Tyson is pretty sure he’s not only talking about his leg.

“Yeah,” he breathes. It’s quiet for a second, then, he decides to throw it all out there. “What if it feels like it’s never going to heal?”

“It will heal, Tys,” says Gabe, kindly. “But it’s okay, in the mean time, to ask for help, you know. Your friends are here for you.”

Tyson is pretty sure Nate will fly out to Toronto to murder him, the next time he cries on FaceTime with him for two hours.

“I just… I want…” Tyson swallows, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. “I miss you.”

Gabe replies easily, as if he’s known this. “I miss you too.”

And then Tyson is crying, quietly sobbing on the phone, and Gabe sits there and listens, not saying anything, until Tyson falls asleep with the phone pressed against his ear.

\--

It’s somewhat of a turn around point, for Tyson. Not because everything is fine after that – he doesn’t talk to Gabe again, and he still misses his old team, and he’s still not playing up to par – but something has still settled inside of him.

Gabe doesn’t hate him.

Tyson hadn’t really allowed himself to wonder, but it was still there somewhere, in the back of his mind, that perhaps Gabe wasn’t missing him. Maybe he hurt Gabe, broke his trust, and Gabe was glad he didn’t have to see him again.

Tyson isn’t sure he could ever forgive himself, if that was the case.

But Gabe said he misses him too. Gabe didn’t sound mad. Gabe sounded like he still cared. And that’s, while not enough, something, and it settles Tyson.

Until the plane touches down in Colorado and suddenly it’s only a day away, that they’re playing the Avs.

“It’s gonna be fucking weird, huh?” Kerf mumbles next to Tyson. Tyson is staring out the plane window: he’s been at this airport so many times, but everything feels so different now, despite it being exactly the same.

“So weird,” Tyson agrees. “Are you gonna meet up with people tonight?”

Kerf nods. “Me, Josty and JT are having a movie night like we always did when we lived together. Are you going to Nate’s?” Kerf pauses. “Or Gabe’s?”

Kerf knows the most about Tyson, out of all the Leafs, because Kerf has been there since Tyson and Gabe were just teammates who flirt a lot, and although Tyson hasn’t always been the closest with Kerf, it seems like Kerf has always looked straight through him.

Maybe it’s all the experience he had with JT and Josty, but when Tyson was still struggling with his feelings, Kerf had taken one look at him and said: “If you don’t go for it, someone else will, and you’ll regret it forever.”

Two weeks of hearing those words in the back of his mind, and Tyson kissed Gabe for the first time.

He thinks that’s why he answers so brutally honestly.

“I’m going to Nate’s. I want to go to Gabe’s, but I don’t think he wants me to, and I don’t blame him after what I did.”

“What you did?” Kerf echoes. “You mean break up with him?”

Tyson feels his cheeks flush with shame. “I told him I couldn’t be just friends with him.”

Kerf stares at him for a second, as if he’s trying to look into Tyson’s soul; Tyson wiggles in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Tyson, I’m gonna say this only once,” Kerf says finally, sticking his chin out a little defiantly. “You’re being stupid. You decided to end it because you thought it would suck to do long distance. But it’s not working. You’re miserable. Gabe is miserable. And you need to get your head out of your ass and understand that you’re gonna hate Toronto as long as it’s keeping you away from Gabe, but in reality, you’re the only keeping Gabe away from yourself. So if you’re unhappy, that’s on you, and if Gabe is unhappy, that’s on you, as well.”

The words are still swirling in Tyson’s brain, when Kerf gets up and leaves the plane. Tyson hadn’t noticed people were starting to get out.

He feels a little nauseous, feels his stomach turning. And he needs to make sure, so he texts Nate.

_Gabe’s unhappy???_

Tyson is barely on the bus before the reply comes.

_As happy as a bird out of the sky_.

And, Tyson isn’t sure exactly what that means – what the fuck, Nate, why do you never make sense – but he thinks it’s a yes, and that thought makes him wanna take his hockey stick and smack himself across the face with it until he passes out, so he texts Nate again.

_I’m gonna have to see you tomorrow instead_

_Go get your boy_, Nate answers, and Tyson promptly orders an Uber.

\--

It’s strange, to be back in Gabe’s street. It feels familiar, but oddly far away, like the months he’s not been here have changed everything. Not that it looks any different: Gabe’s fence is still not fixed, his car is still parked crooked, the tree still has its leaves.

But once, Tyson stepped onto this curve and felt like he was home.

Now, he steps onto the curve and feels like he’s intruding.

Maybe Gabe doesn’t want him here. Maybe he _does _hate Tyson, he was just too polite to mention it on the phone, and now he’s gonna slam the door in Tyson’s face. It’s scary, so scary that Tyson can’t seem to get himself to knock.

But Tyson can’t force himself to turn around, either, because that would mean giving up. Giving up on Gabe. And he might’ve already tried to do it, by breaking it off with him, but he clearly failed, because even in his dreams he can’t get away from him, and now he doesn’t think he can just give up again.

He stands there, on Gabe’s porch, wondering what the hell he’s going to do, when the door opens.

Something launches itself out of the door and crashes against Tyson’s legs, and despite everything, despite himself, Tyson is giggling as he sinks towards the floor and lets Zoey lick his face.

“Hey babygirl,” he coos, “I missed you too!” Zoey barks excitedly, and then an amused chuckle sounds somewhere above him.

“I couldn’t wait for you to knock any longer,” Gabe hums. “She was breaking down the door.”

“I can’t believe she still recognizes me,” Tyson says, fondly scratching Zoey’s ears, and he can basically _hear _Gabe’s eye roll.

“You’ve not been gone that long, Tys.”

Not that long, but too long. When Tyson finally looks up, it’s like it hits him in the face, the sheer force of how beautiful Gabe is.

His hair is a little longer than when he left, his beard a little shorter. His eyes are still _stupidly_ blue, and he’s still so handsome it nearly annoys Tyson. There’s no longer a boot on his leg, although he’s not scheduled to play tomorrow, and his arms are crossed over his chest, the muscles rippling deliciously under his skin.

Tyson is so fucked.

He crawls up, carefully takes a step towards Gabe.

“I know I probably shouldn’t be here,” he starts; then he realizes he doesn’t really know where he’s going with that, so his voice trails off.

“That depends,” Gabe answers, and there’s an edge to his voice, now, that Tyson recognizes as defensive. “Do you want to be here?”

And with Gabe’s bright blue eyes staring into his own, Tyson honestly doesn’t know how to be anything but truthful, so he says: “There’s no where I’d rather be.”

Gabe’s entire demeanor softens; the crease in his forehead smoothens and he drops his arms, steps to the side.

“Then come in.”

Nothing really changed, inside the house, and it’s painfully familiar when Tyson takes off his shoes, lines them up next to Gabe’s in the hallway. Zoey trottles towards the living room and Tyson hears Gabe’s voice, soft and fond, telling her to lay down. Everything is like he left it, and yet, Tyson feels like he shouldn’t be here, like he’s intruding on something that isn’t his anymore.

He still follows the sound of Gabe’s footsteps.

Gabe is in the living room, standing next to the fireplace and staring at the fire as if he’s never seen anything burn before. When Tyson comes in, his head snaps up, and there’s something uncertain about him, which is not something Tyson is used to seeing.

Gabe is always so sure of himself, always takes charge in every situation. It’s why he’s such a good captain, and it’s why he works so well with Tyson. Tyson is not good at taking the lead, likes other people to make difficult decisions for him, and he _sure _as hell doesn’t know how to make sense of his own emotions.

Except this time, as the flames flicker an orange glow onto Gabe’s face.

“I hate Toronto,” Tyson blurts out.

Gabe’s face falls. He sounds pissed off when he asks: “Why? Are they not nice to you? Is it the gay thing? Tys, I swear to God, if they….”

“No, nothing like that,” Tyson hurries to say, because his teammates have been nothing but nice and he can’t have Gabe asking Z to demolish them tomorrow on his behalf. “My teammates are fine. The team is fine. The city is fine. I mean, hockey is not _great_, because apparently I forgot how to play…”

“Stop,” Gabe interrupts, still a little on edge, “you’re a great hockey player, you just need some time to find your game.”

“But I’m not going to find my game.” Tyson hears how desperate he sounds, but he can’t be bothered to correct it. He _is _desperate. Gabe has to hear this, has to understand. “I can’t find my game because I don’t care about hockey anymore.”

Gabe’s frown deepens, if that’s even possible, and he doesn’t get it, and Tyson is going to _die_, because Gabe is so composed, and Tyson is so dramatic, and Gabe is so beautiful and it hurts like hell.

“I fucking miss you,” Tyson blurts out. “I don’t care about hockey and I hate Toronto not because there’s anything wrong with those things inherently, but because they’re taking me away from you.”

Gabe’s face goes through about twelve emotions before settling on confused. “But you said…”

“I know what I said,” Tyson grumbles, annoyed with himself at the mere thought of it, “but I’m clearly an idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for me. I thought if we were done, I could just go back to being the Tyson I was before I met you. But…” he pauses. “I’m not that Tyson anymore. All the things we went through, all those years of being teammates and then friends and then more than that, they changed me. They turned me from Tyson on his own to Tyson with Gabe, Gabe-and-Tyson, and I don’t know how to not be part of that anymore.”

He steps forward. Gabe stands his ground.

“More importantly,” says Tyson, “I really don’t want to find out.”

Gabe’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “I don’t really like me without you, either. But nothing has changed from this summer, Tys. You’re still gonna be in Toronto, and I’ll be here. That’s still a long plane ride away.”

Tyson shrugs. “Not that long. I did it tonight and it could’ve been worse. I could’ve been sent to like, Tampa.”

Gabe lets out a shaky laugh. “But you said...”

“That I wasn’t a guy for long distance,” Tyson finishes for him. “I know. And I was being honest, I didn’t think I could be.” He lets a silence fall, watches as Gabe’s face drops, then steps forward and carefully takes Gabe’s hands in his. Gabe doesn’t pull them away, but doesn’t really participate either, just lets Tyson take the lead.

For once in his life, Tyson is okay with that.

“I am, however, also not a guy for being without you. And I think that weighs more, in the grand scale of things. So I want this. I want you. If you’ll still have me.”

Zoey snores in the background, and a tentative smile forms on Gabe’s face, and Tyson feels his heart hammer in his chest.

“I’ve missed you,” Gabe admits, softly. “Wanting you has never been the issue, Tys. But I thought you didn’t want me anymore. And I just want, no, I need you to want me all the time.” His voice breaks a little, at the end, and if Tyson wasn’t currently on a mission to win Gabe’s heart back, he would throw himself into the fireplace for hurting Gabe that much.

“I want you,” he says fiercely, pressing himself up to Gabe when Gabe smiles at those words. “I’ve always wanted you, and I will always want you, and I’m sorry for making you doubt that.”

“Okay,” says Gabe, and Tyson’s eyes widen.

“Okay?” he repeats dumbly. “I wasn’t even halfway through my groveling!”

“Yeah, okay.” Gabe is grinning, and it’s everything Tyson ever wanted to see. “You can finish your groveling later. Right now, I’m gonna need you to kiss me.”

And that, Tyson can do, so he presses up and kisses Gabe with as much force as he can muster, revels in the way Gabe’s hands grip his biceps and pull him closer, and promises himself he’ll never let Gabe go again.

\--

“That was so hot,” Gabe groans above Tyson, and Tyson can feel his abs tense when he runs his tongue down them. “Tys, fuck…”

“Turns out I can still score,” Tyson grins. “As long as I’ve got my boyfriend cheering for me.”

“I _was_ cheering for you,” Gabe admits, “even though I really hoped you’d lose.”

Tyson playfully bites at Gabe’s hipbone and Gabe yelps.

The Avs won, 4-3 over the Leafs, but Tyson doesn’t even really care. Nate scored, so he’s happy for his best friend, and Tyson finally scored too, so he’s happy for himself. Kerf got two assists and Z didn’t get shit, so Tyson made sure to chirp him about that all game. At the end of the game, Z pushed Tyson into the goal post, and Tyson is pretty sure that’s gonna be a big bruise, but he made sure to retaliate by sneaking into the Avs locker room while Z was still in line to congratulate Grubi and hide his pants.

It felt good, to have all his friends on the ice, and it felt good to score, and it felt even better to be able to go back to Gabe’s place after the game and feel at home.

“I’ll always be cheering for you, Tys, even if I’m in another country,” Gabe says then, and it’s almost too honest and tender, and Tyson doesn’t really know how to tell Gabe how much it means to him, so instead he takes his dick in his mouth.

“Oh, fucking…” Gabe chokes, his hands flying to Tyson’s hair.

Tyson brings him to the edge, then at the last moment, pulls away. Gabe groans in frustration.

“What the hell?” he growls, pulling Tyson up.

Tyson is feeling strangely emotional. He knows he’s leaving tomorrow, flying to Columbus, and he hates it. Hates knowing that he’ll leave Gabe behind. But he knows this time, he’ll have Gabe waiting here for him, and it’s better, but still…

“Tell me you want me,” he mutters against Gabe’s neck, and lets his entire body weight rest on Gabe’s chest, which means Gabe’s dick is hard against his stomach.

Gabe seems to get it, seems to understand, because his arms wrap around Tyson and pull him in tighter, and his voice is quietly confident when he whispers: “I want you all the fucking time, Tys.”

“I want you all the time too,” Tyson mumbles, and he kisses Gabe.

He’ll show him just how much.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @puckinghell on tumblr!


End file.
